


Falling Faster than Stars

by TheImpossibleSnicks



Series: Chasing Starlight [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Black Paladin Keith (Voltron), Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Grief/Mourning, Homesickness, I promise its endgame just bear with me, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Keith Has Nightmares (Voltron), Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Minor Allura/Lance (Voltron), Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn Keith/Lance (Voltron), Supportive Hunk (Voltron), tags will be added as i write so keep a look out for them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:47:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24728458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheImpossibleSnicks/pseuds/TheImpossibleSnicks
Summary: After Shiro's disappearance, the team is left to pick up the broken pieces left behind in his absence. But without their Black Paladin, defending the universe proves to be a difficult feat. Amidst the chaos, a new leader emerges from the ashes of the Galran Empire; a leader intent on tearing the fragile group apart seemingly by any means necessary.Or, just another canon-rewrite fic~
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: Chasing Starlight [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788004
Kudos: 20





	Falling Faster than Stars

**Author's Note:**

> were you disappointed in how Voltron ended? or were you perhaps let down by the immense amount of wasted potential they stored up in various character arcs only to abandon them completely?  
> then this fic is for you! 
> 
> Inspiration for the fic title [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rc9PLsIYwao) and the series title [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pgum6OT_VH8)

_Arcs of electric heat, sparks spewing haphazardly across his fingertips, the tingling of every single nerve as fire danced in the air of his cockpit. Keith gritted his teeth as he felt Red thrust the sword deeper still into the armor in front of them, ozone and singed flesh flooded his nose as purple energy laced the cockpit. The collective scream of his teammates screeched through the comms, mixing with the furious cry of Red that thrummed behind his eyes with a powerful, vengeful rage as she unconsciously projected an image of her former paladin into his mind. Together they created a cry of desperation, fury, and… pain? He searched, trying to single out where the feeling was originating. Eventually he found it, a face flashing before him. Shiro… Shiro was in pain? He tried reaching out, desperately calling for him but his query became lost in the cacophony. His thoughts struggled upstream, brushing a consciousness before whirling away again._

_He could see movement in his periphery, startling himself back to the present just in time to see Voltron’s sword swinging away as blindingly purple light took its place. Screams. Who was screaming? Was he screaming? He couldn’t tell anymore, the line between himself and his friends becoming even more blurry. His eyes squeezed shut as he felt his connection with his teammates ripping apart. He reached out, trying to hold them together, felt the others reach for him. Then Red pitched sideways, the force of it shocking his senses. Something was wrong. Voltron was being ripped apart, torn at the seams and thrown to the side. The tear was jagged, painful, and he felt his mind wrenched from the others as Red cried out in agony. It was too much. He was spiraling away, his hand reaching out to grasp the strings of consciousness attached to his teammates before he was lost to the emptiness._

A gasp slipped past his lips as Keith lurched forward, hand grasping at the inky blackness. His eyes flitted around manically, chest heaving as he tried not to gag at the lingering stench of burning flesh in his nostrils. He could make out a pair of boots lined meticulously against a nearly empty closet, a mass of red fabric he realized was his jacket hanging haphazardly from the door. It was his room, he realized with a trickle of shame. He was in his room at the Castle of Lions, where there had been no sign of Zarkon for nearly two weeks. Keith let out a shuttering breath, carding a shaky hand through his sweaty bangs as the other gripped his sheets until his knuckles turned white. He tried to focus on the pain of his nails scraping his scalp to steady him, tried to ignore the panic bearing down on him and the slowly shrinking cubicle he called a room. Breathe in, hold it, count to 10, release. The air hissed between his clenched teeth, his whole body shaking. Keith counted to 20 before breathing back in, trying to remember the calming techniques Shiro had taught him back at the Garrison. Shiro…

His stomach heaved. Keith doubled over, willing himself not to puke as he pressed his forehead into his knees. His fault. It was his fault his brother was gone. _Again_ , his brain supplied helpfully. The air lodged in his throat as he struggled to swallow past the lump that squeezed his throat shut, but all he could manage was a pitiful choking noise. He lost track of how long he huddled like that, willing his ragged breaths to return to normal while trying to force oxygen into his body. It should have been simple, but his lungs couldn’t seem to find any air. Why was there no air? He coughed, his head starting to spin as his chest heaved. What was wrong? He couldn’t think. Why couldn’t he breathe? Oh God he was going to die, he was going to die he was going to die he was going to die – A stern rumble interrupted his spiraling thoughts. 

“Red?” Keith croaked out, latching onto the consciousness probing his own. She was scalding, like flames licking his mind. The rumble was back, her fierce love and protection tethering him to his sanity and her warm embrace wrapping around him like a blanked. _Safe,_ the feeling seemed to say. _Paladin safe._ It repeated like a mantra throughout his entire body. Slowly but surely, he felt the frantic hammering of his heart slowed to its normal cadence, the oxygen returning to the atmosphere as his head slowly cleared and his surroundings came back into focus. 

He opened his eyes again once his head had stopped spinning and started hastily wiping away the stray tears that had snuck their way past his palms. When had he started crying? Keith didn’t know and decided not to dwell on it. 

“Thanks, girl,” He murmured, sending a wave of gratitude to his lion through their bond, “I needed that.”  
He felt her purr in response, clearly pleased with herself. He chuckled, glancing at his stolen Garrison phone before cringing when he saw how early it was. Hunk wouldn’t be serving breakfast for another four hours, but Keith already knew there was no way he could fall back asleep at this point. Not to mention, he hadn’t had a panic attack like that since his father’s death years ago.

Maybe some sword practice will help me forget, he thought absently as he slid off the Altean mattress. After throwing on some fresh clothes, he pulled his hair back into a loose ponytail and, bayard in hand, departed his bedroom. 

The halls were silent as he carefully made his way towards the training deck, but the thoughts trapped in his own head were still loud as they bounced around in his skull. The nightmares were nothing new, but now it seemed his mind had no problem replaying the final moments of their fight with Zarkon over and over every time he closed his eyes. He couldn’t help it – everywhere he looked, he saw Shiro. His vacant chair in the dining hall that all the paladins avoided like the plague, the empty seat on the bridge, the training deck, his favorite couch in the lounge, the undignified sprawling form of the Black Lion as it lay inoperable in its hangar… It just made the gaping hole he left behind that much bigger. Keith shifted his spare hand from his bayard to his arm, fingers digging into the cloth and flesh at the thought of their former leader. Even saying the words “former” felt like a betrayal. As far as Keith was concerned, he still was their leader. He was just… currently indisposed. 

_God, listen to yourself,_ he thought with a grimace. _You can’t even admit to yourself that he’s missing. Pathetic._

He was so lost in thought he didn’t even hear the gunfire until the training deck door slid open. 

Unlike he’d been hoping, the training deck was far from empty. The whirring of robotic probes was peppered with the whine of a laser gun, the tiny spheres dropping from the air like flies in the desert heat. Keith could make out blue armor and a lanky stature, his whole body taught with tension as he destroyed each probe in a single shot. He seemed to be wining until one of the probes managed to circle around behind him, grazing his right shoulder before he could retaliate. Yelping, the blue paladin whirled around, gun firing erratically until the aggressor finally exploded. Keith heard him breathe a sigh of relief as the pieces of the last bot joined its brethren. 

“End training sequence.” Lance panted, lowering his rifle tenderly and rolling his stiff shoulders.  
Keith tried to stifle his frustration; Lance probably was the last person he wanted to see right now, especially in the state he was currently in. Between the residual anxiety churning in his gut and the sleep deprivation, his fuse was dangerously short. What the hell was Lance even doing in here anyway? As far as Keith knew, Lance had never shown an interest in training before so why change that now? Whatever. It didn’t matter now. He took a step back, ready to retreat back to the safety of his room, but the door whooshed closed behind him before he could sneak away. Lance immediately shrieked at the noise, bayard swinging around to point at his head. Keith looked on, trying to mask his face into a neutral expression and hide his dread. He realized with begrudging respect that the rifle was pointed between his eyes. Even when caught off guard, Lance’s aim was nothing to joke about.

“Keith!” Lance yelled, still looking stunned.

“Lance.” Keith replied flatly. 

“How long have you been standing there?” Lance stammered as he tried to regain his composure, attempting to force his voice into something aloof rather than terrified.  
Keith rolled his eyes. Typical. 

“Does it matter?” Keith answered shortly. “Now are you gonna hold me at gunpoint all night or can I come in now?”  
At that, Lance quickly lowered his rifle, looking sheepish. 

“Sorry man, you just startled me that’s all.” He chuckled, letting the bayard turn back to its neutral form.  
Keith didn’t bother replying as he moved further into the room, figuring he might as well stay now that his cover had been blown anyway. He saw Lance pause, eyes roaming over his disheveled appearance. His gaze lingered on Keith’s hastily tied ponytail, the way his mussed hair framed the heavy bags under his eyes and sickly pale skin. His eyes were probably bloodshot too from the lack of sleep, Keith mused. He scuffed his feet, suddenly self-conscious of his appearance under the scrutiny of his teammate. Keith saw Lance open his mouth and decided that, honestly? He really didn’t care to hear anything else Lance had to say. So, he marched forward, knocking Lance’s shoulder with his own and he stalked past.

“Don’t let me distract you,” Keith called back sarcastically, waving hand dismissively. “Keep doing whatever it was you were doing; it’ll be like I’m not even here.”  
He could hear Lance muttering grumpily behind him and the blaster-fire resumed. He took a moment to recollect himself before shifting into his fighting stance. His bayard materialized as he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath through his nose before releasing it through his teeth. 

“Begin training level 21.”

His annoyance at sharing the space and his anxiety about his dreams evaporated as he exchanged blows with the Gladiator. His bayard arced through the air in practiced swipes, metal clanging against metal as their blades deflected off each other. Keith gritted his teeth, pushing against his opponent as the rebound sent shocks up his arm. He forced himself to push through the discomfort, the rest of his surroundings disappearing as he shifted his footing, ducking into a roll as his opponent’s sword crashed down behind him. Keith swung, using the momentum of his roll to enhance the speed of his slice but the Gladiator recovered quickly, stopping Keith’s sword before he could do more than clip its shoulder. 

The fight became a dance – swipe, back away, roll, swipe again, stab, repeat. By the time he struck the Gladiator down, sweat was cascading down his face and staining the back of his shirt. His breath was coming in ragged gasps, his bangs dropping in front of his face as he braced his hands on his thighs. He didn’t even recognize that Lance’s gunfire had ceased until a hand tentatively rested on his shoulder. 

“Hey… You okay there, Mullet?” Lance’s voice was casual, but Keith could hear a twinge of concern sneaking past the seemingly nonchalant demeanor.  
Somehow, the concern made it worse. Keith’s eye twitched ever so slightly as his muscles stiffened under the unwanted touch. 

“M'Fine,” He muttered, shrugging Lance’s hand away. Lance, however, continued hovering ever so slightly in Keith’s periphery. Keith could feel his temper simmering under the intense scrutiny of Lance’s gaze. He desperately willed him to back off but Lance either couldn’t read the strong “fuck off” vibes he was giving or just didn’t care. 

“Begin training level 26.” Keith rasped, straightening up and holding his sword at the ready. He could see Lance’s stance move into something that reflected his shocked tone.

“Whoa, doesn’t that seem a little high –”  
Keith ignored his teammates opinion as the Gladiator came at him with twice the speed as before. Even as he fought, he still could feel that familiar feeling of frustration simmering just below the surface. Each swing became a personal attack, each one embodying one of the tightly strung injustices he held in the depths of his soul. He grunted as the Gladiator nicked his arm, ignoring Lance’s gasp as he pushed forward, meeting each strike with his bayard with limbs like lead. His already labored breaths were becoming more desperate, his mind less focused. He could feel his legs shaking, but he forced them forward as he went on the offensive. Letting out a guttural scream, he heaved his sword in a massive downwards arc towards the Gladiator’s chest. The Altean Gladiator shifted swiftly to the right, causing him to stumble forwards. In that tiny moment of weakness, the Gladiator snapped the flat of its blade downwards, smacking it onto his back. Keith grunted, falling onto his stomach and smacking his jaw against the floor.

“Shit!” He grunted, left hand instinctively moving to inspect his mouth. Momentarily winded, he barely registered the whine of Lance’s gun before the Gladiator was clattering to the ground beside him, a hole in the middle of its forehead. 

“End training sequence,” Lance yelled, his voice muffled in Keith’s ringing ears. Keith felt footsteps hurrying towards him as he rolled onto his back, his eyes closed and lungs screaming. 

“What the hell are you thinking?” Lance demanded angrily. Keith cracked his eye open to see Lance standing over him, his expression equal parts concern and fury. “Are you trying to get yourself _killed_? Or was this another dumb way for you to show off?”  
Keith scowled, looking away angrily. 

“I’m not always trying to compete with you, you know. I have better things to do than participate in your dumb fucking rivalry.” Keith snapped, sitting forward and grimacing as the world spun violently. “Besides, I was handling myself perfectly fine before you stepped in to try to play ‘hero’.” 

“If by ‘playing hero’ you mean saving you from getting skewered, then yeah, you got me.” Lance threw up his hands in surrender as he took a step away from Keith. “Next time I’ll just let you die if that’s what you want so badly.” 

“Yeah, go on and make this all about yourself like you always do,” Keith muttered venomously, glaring at Lance’s back as he spun around and stomped towards the exit. “You never did figure out how to keep your nose out of other people’s business.” Keith stumbled to his feet, his knees wavering for a moment as he regained his balance. He could feel the wick of his patience quickly being devoured by the flames of his temper, but he was beyond caring at this point. Why couldn’t Lance just mind his own business? He’d never cared before, so why should he believe he was being genuine now of all times?

He watched as Lance’s entire body stiffened, his hand unconsciously calling the bayard from his suit as he whirled around stormed back towards Keith. His eyes burned as he got right into Keith’s face, towering over him with his superior height. 

“’Not my business?’” Lance growled, his eyes narrowing threateningly. “If you lose your shit, the whole team goes down with you. _Voltron_ goes down with you. As a _Defender of the Universe_ , yeah, I’d say it’s my business.”  
Keith tried to laugh, but nothing came out except a pained, strangled sound. 

“I hate to break the bad news to you, _Sharpshooter_ ,” he ground out, thrusting his head closer to Lance’s, realizing with annoyance that he had to stand on his tiptoes to match Lance’s height. “There is no Voltron. There hasn’t been for weeks, and there _won’t_ be until we find Shiro. So maybe instead of criticizing me, you should be out there looking for him.”

“Oh yeah?” Lance shot back without missing a beat, “Well, letting the gladiator beat the quiznak out of you isn’t going to bring Shiro back.” 

Keith didn’t even realize what had happened until Lance hit the ground. He didn’t remember screaming, the noise tight and primal and exploding from somewhere tight and painful in his chest. He didn’t remember thrusting his hands against the front of Lance’s armor, the strength of it launching him to the ground almost an entire foot away. He couldn’t remember even as he felt he rage slip away, its absence leaving a numbing nothingness in its wake. He took one look at the pure fear on Lance’s face before he was gone, his feet running before his brain told them to move. He didn’t even know where he was going, and he didn’t care. The tears spilled freely from his eyes now, the sob wrenching itself from somewhere inside his chest. The further from Lance’s betrayed, terrified face he was, the better. 

Eventually, Keith must have ended up back in his room because when he finally became aware of his surroundings again, he was curled up at the foot of his bed with tear-crusted cheeks and aching feet. The night itself was a blur of hysterics. He hadn’t slept, hadn’t moved in hours – he just lay there, knees clutched to his chest, as his confrontation with Lance replayed in his mind’s eye. 

Though he’d never admit it to anyone else, he was too afraid of the nightmares to try sleeping again. 

So instead, he hauled himself off his mattress with aching limbs and stumbled to the bathroom to clean himself up. By the time he wandered into the mess hall at 0700 hours, a nasty headache was thrumming behind his eyes. Keith managed to ignore everyone as he slumped forward and moodily poured himself a bowl of alien cereal, ignoring the glances he was attracting from the rest of the team.

“Hey… does anyone know where Lance is?” Hunk asked the silent room, a note of concern underlying his casual words. Upon closer inspection, however, Keith could see his leg jumping under the table. Keith shrugged, going back to swirling his soggy flakes around his bowl.

“How should I know,” he muttered. “He probably just overslept.”

“At least he _is_ sleeping,” Pidge shot back. “You look like shit, dude. Did you even close your eyes at all last night?” Keith rolled his eyes as he irritably gave his breakfast an especially hearty stab. 

“Speak for yourself,” he growled. “Tell many hours you’ve slept in the last year and then get back to me.” 

Pidge just scoffed and shoved his arm in response. 

“I’m sure number three will be awake in no time.” Replied Coran’s chipper voice as he sat down with a plate piled high with Hunk’s cooking. Allura nodded as she sipped a steaming Altean beverage. According to Hunk’s assessment, it was the Altean equivalent to tea. 

“If the blue paladin is not here in the next few quintents, we can send someone to rouse him.” She stated, smiling faintly. 

“Oh please, let me do it.” Pidge cackled as Hunk looked more and more worried with every passing second. “I want to see how many fingernails I can paint before he wakes up. I’m thinking maybe a dark green, what do you think Keith?”  
Keith was silent for a moment before he stood up, chair toppling backwards as he turned to stalk out the door. 

“Do whatever you want,” He muttered. “I could care less. I’m going to search again today,” He called the last part in the vague direction of the Princess as he stalked towards the door. 

“Again? Wait, Keith –” Whatever Allura was about to tell him was cut off as the door hissed shut. Keith released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. 

Watching his team laugh and enjoy themselves like that had begun stirring up some ugly feelings in the pit of his stomach. They were at war, for quiznack’s sake, and their leader was missing. _Missing._ Instead of sitting around and doing nothing, they should be out there looking for him. The more he thought about it, the more furious it made him. Why was he the only one looking? Did nobody else care? He thought back to his fight with Lance that morning before, back to his obsession with forming Voltron. Keith gave a dry chuckle, the noise echoing slightly down the empty hall in front of him. Wasn’t Shiro worth more than some robot? Besides, as far as Keith was concerned Shiro was still their leader. Without him, Voltron didn’t exist. 

_All the more reason to find him_ , he reminded himself.

As soon as he entered Red’s hangar dressed in full paladin armor, he could feel her fiery affection wash over him, her reassurance a balm for his frayed nerves. He gave her a small smile before patting her massive paw. 

“Hey girl, you ready to go back out there?” Burning determination met his words as she lowered her head to let him in. He sat down in the cockpit, securing his helmet as Red’s lights blinked on around him. As Red shot out of the hangar, he clenched his fists around her controls. 

“I’ll find you Shiro,” he swore to the empty cockpit. “No matter how long it takes.” 

Lance had given up on sleeping that night. The sight of Keith’s anguished face, the way he subconsciously gravitated towards the exit like a cornered animal, the vicious way he had attacked that gladiator… 

_Getting the quiznack beat out of you won’t bring Shiro back._

He winced. That… probably wasn’t his best line. Lance begrudgingly supposed he deserved an apology, but the idea of sucking up to _Keith_ of all people made him sick. But as much as he stubbornly tried to rationalize that it wasn’t his fault, that Keith _deserved it_ , Lance couldn’t shake the image of Keith’s gaunt, bleak face and his dulled eyes. 

And yet… 

No. Lance grumbled to himself, rolling onto his back with his arm flopped across his face. He would apologize after Keith stopped snapping at everything that moved within three feet of him. Nobody treated his family that way.  
After Keith left, Lance had gone back to his bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars he’d plastered all over his ceiling. Part of him wasn’t sure why he bought them – he didn’t have to go far to be reminded of space anymore. But there they were, sitting on a shelf in the space mall and collecting dust, the sight of them tugging at the deeply buried familiarity of home. They looked eerily similar to the set his parents had bought him for his 7th birthday, eventually relenting after catching him asleep nearly every night sprawled under the swath of stars, they knew he desperately wanted to reach. 

If Lance tried, he could almost smell that salty Cuban breeze. 

Lance sat up, trying to swallow down the all-too-familiar wave of nauseous homesickness. He swiped a hand past his eyes and slouched to the bathroom, intending to take a shower. Before he could make it there, he was assaulted by the image of a stranger on the other side of the sink. He had tousled brown hair sticking up every which way and trenchlike bags under dull eyes. He looked clammy, almost sickly. Lance frowned, and the strange, haggard man frowned back. 

He sighed, reached for the concealer he kept behind the mirror, and got to work. 

By the time Lance wandered out of the bathroom, he’d already missed breakfast and was halfway to lunch. At a loss of what to do, he considered his options. He didn’t want to go back to his room since sleep seemed to be out of the question, and the idea of running into Keith on the training deck made him nauseous. So, he trudged towards the kitchen, shoulders slumped and shoes squeaking against the floor as the soles dragged on the Altean tile.  
He was wondering if Hunk might let him sneak some leftovers before lunch when the alarms started. 

The sheer volume of it caught him off guard. He barely took a second to process the sound before he was running, tearing through the maze-like array of corridors towards the bridge with all thoughts of lunch evaporating in his panic. He nearly knocked down Pidge as she came barreling blindly into the intersection, running from the direction of the labs. She grunted a barely audible ‘sorry’, matching stride with him despite their vast difference in height. Neither of them said anything, but Lance could feel anxiety coming off her in waves, mixing with his own, and he knew exactly why. This was the first alarm since their fight with Zarkon, shattering the tentative silence that somehow still had everyone on edge. 

Dreading what they were about to find, Lance raced onto the bridge, skidding to a halt with Pidge right on his heels. Propping his shaking arms on his legs, he looked around and quickly realized they weren’t the first ones to arrive. Hunk stood off to the side watching Allura nervously as she rapidly flicked through different holoscreens, her eyes roaming over each camera feed before moving to the next. Behind her, Coran’s fingers flew across the keys of his station. 

“What’s going on?” Pidge beat him to it as she straightened her glasses, taking in the scene with owlish eyes. “Is it the Galra?”

Allura’s attention never wavered from her task, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly. “I am not sure,” she replied, sounding lost. “Coran says there’s a foreign ship drifting within range of the Castle’s sensors.” She sighed, dropping the holoscreen and crossing her arms worriedly. “There’s no sign that anyone has broken into the Castle, so I believe we are safe for the time being. Until then, however, I believe we should stay alert in case –” 

“Princess!” Coran shouted, straightening up as he glanced at the crew gathered behind him. “We’re receiving a transmission from the ship!” 

If Allura was startled by the interruption, she chose not to show it. She brushed aside the screens and turned to face Coran, the epitome of neutrality. Lance liked to call it her “politics face”. 

“Let’s see what they have to say.” She commanded, brushing a stray hair behind her ear.  
There was silence for a moment while Coran patched them through. Lance took that moment to scoot over to Hunk, who gave him a small smile.

“Someone’s up late today,” he chuckled softly. “Sleep well?”  
Lance tried for his usual grin, but only managed an exhausted grimace. He could tell Hunk wasn’t fooled by it. 

“Not exactly,” He murmured, rubbing a hand over weary eyes. “I’ll tell you about it later.” He promised quickly as Hunk suddenly frowned, that annoying yet endearingly nosy expression beginning to form.

“I think we’re connected now,” Coran called, interrupting them. “The broadcast is rather weak, so I’m having trouble pinning it down. Not to worry though, Paladins, it’s nothing that the magnificent Coran cannot handle!”  
Lance purposefully ignored the searching look Hunk gave him, and with a quiet sigh Lance heard Hunk relinquish his curiosity for the moment.

“Hello? …anyone hear me? Someone, plea– respond.” A warbly voice echoed through the bridge, laced with static. “Please respond, please… need aid. My small one… bleeding badly, please help me… Galra… Anybody, please – "

_Galra._

The effect was immediate. Allura inhaled sharply, her eyes widening, and Lance could see Pidge visibly flinch. Hunk shuffled closer to her in solidarity, though his face was sheet white. It was the word they were all dreading, the fact all of them had tried to ignore. Despite the sacrifices they’d endured after their attack on Zarkon’s command ship, the war was far from over. Of course, another strike from the Galra made logical sense, but Lance didn’t think any of them had expected it to happen quite this soon. 

Coran was the first to move.  
“Let’s see if we can clear up this static,” He said, hands flying across the keys. “From the sound of this interference, their vessel is likely quite damaged.”  
This seemed to shake Pidge from her state of shock, and she hurried over to Coran to have a look at the tech. 

“Wait, Keith isn’t even here yet,” Hunk calls out, looking around in surprise. “Shouldn’t we get him before we open the comms? He’s a part of this team, too.”

What? After a quick glance at the assembled group, Lance realized Hunk was right. The guilt he had forced down earlier this morning crept back up again. Even with his prickly exterior, Keith’s devotion to his Paladin duties was undoubtably strong. If Keith wasn’t on the bridge, what in quiznack’s name was he doing? Was he missing because of what Lance said to him that night?

“We don’t have time,” Allura replied impatiently, annoyance sparking in her eyes. “This is clearly a plea for help. As Paladins, responding to distress calls as soon as possible is our duty. If Keith isn’t here, we will just have to fill him in when he finally arrives.”

“But –”

“Coran, put the call through.” She plowed on, not even turning to look as she ignored Hunk.  
Hunk’s jaw snapped shut with a frown, his face crinkling ever so slightly as the bridge went silent. Coran replied to her command with a quiet “yes, Princess” and, after a few keystrokes, the video feed blinked to life in front of them. 

Her appearance was striking – a crown of feathers surrounded a thin, delicate-looking face. She blinked in shock at the Paladins, her large yet beady eyes widening in recognition. Lance was surprised to see turquoise irises framed by golden sclera’s. Strange markings traced her jawline and graced her cheekbones, their dark blue hue pulling out the darker flecks in her irises. Her brow was furrowed in pain, thin eyebrows scrunched together towards the center of her face. A gash ran across her fair face, and she seemed hunched forward slightly leaving Lance to guess there might be other wounds concealed from view. A quiet gasp from Coran attracted the attention of everyone on bridge. Both Alteans looked as if they’d seen a ghost. 

“An Avarian!” Coran exclaimed, voice wavering. 

“What are you doing this deep into space?” Allura called to the figure, posture suddenly tense. 

“Please, you must help us,” The Avarian cried. “We – the Galra – we didn’t even stand a chance!” Her voice shook, growing more desperate by the moment

“What happened?” Allura demanded, fear creeping into her expression.

“There was no warning and my son –” she choked, ducking her head in shame or grief, Lance couldn’t tell. “He’s injured, he needs treatment, and we cannot drive them away on our own. I – I just –” She sobbed, apparently unable to continue.  
Allura’s hands clutched the control pillars so tightly that Lance was worried she would crush them with the force of her grip. 

“Of course,” She spoke clearly, but her voice was shaky. “We’re opening a docking bay now; you can explain everything once you come aboard.”  
The Avarian nodded, relief flooding her expression and the transmission cut out. 

As soon as the image dissipated, Allura threw herself off the podium and out the door without another word. Coran sighed heavily, running a hand through his meticulously combed hair. 

“Was it really a good idea to let them board?” A familiarly aggressive voice piped up from the back of the room. Lance flipped around to see Keith leaning against the back wall, his arms crossed and a familiar scowl already plastered to his face. “It could be a trap. For all we know, the Galra sent them here on purpose to draw us out.”  
Lance opened his mouth, maybe to accuse him of being late, but Coran chimed in before he could form the words. 

“The Avarians are a proud, ancient race,” Coran replied, worry creasing his brow as he tugged at his mustache absentmindedly. “Their leader was an old friend of King Alfor’s back in the day. Alliances with the Avarians was not an easy task, for they are generally untrusting and stubbornly independent. They must be in a great deal of trouble for one of them to have fled so far from their home planet.”  
His gaze sharpened for a moment as his gaze shifted back to Keith and away from the door where Allura had fled through.

“You may be right, my boy,” He admitted, walking briskly across the bridge with Pidge following closely behind. “But for Allura, I imagine their old alliance is worth the risk.”  
Keith just scoffed, heaving himself off the wall as he slumped after Coran.

“Hey wait a minute! Where have you b –” Keith whipped around, shooting him an icy glare that silenced him immediately. 

“It doesn’t have anything to do with you,” Keith growled viciously. “So keep your nose out of my business.”  
With that, he absconded after the Alteans, his pace quickening as he fled the room. Lance watched him go warily as the door hissed shut behind him. Hunk gave him an apologetic expression and a gentle pat on the shoulder. 

“He’s been grumpy all day, I wouldn’t take it personally if I were you,” Hunk supplied helpfully as he steered Lance towards the door. Lance just sighed. 

“Yeah…” He muttered, unconvinced. “I hope you’re right.”

**Author's Note:**

> whoah boy I didn't think this would ever actually get finished  
> anyway hi!! I'm snicks!! thanks for reading my fic, i'm still pretty new to this so if I mess something up feel free to yell in the comments about it ;)  
> anyway I've been sitting on a draft of this for almost 2 months now and, even though there are so many other projects I need to work on instead, I decided that this was definitely the best thing I could be doing right now. between work, my already nonexistent sleep schedule, my upcoming senior year of college, and the chaotic state of the world, I have no idea when this will get done. I lack something called "executive function brain" so I have a hard enough time completing small projects, never mind a 3 part series. I also lack something called a "consistent sleep schedule". (Sleep? What the hell is that?) But I'm determined to see it through, I need the l closure because d a m n was season 8 disappointing  
> hopefully the next one will be up soon!! see you in the next one and thank you so much for checking this out! Hopefully you enjoy the ride~


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